Diaries of a Demigod
by Lilith Blackmoon
Summary: I'm the daughter of Loki. Feared by many, loved by none. I just want to be something good, but I have something inside of me that just lusts to be bad. I want to stop that. I want to be good. This is my life. Follow my journey, and see where it takes me, because it'll be a long, and interesting ride. I want to be a hero. And I won't stop until I'm no longer the villain.
1. First Journal entry

There was a girl who was never born to 'fit in'. She never wanted to hate, or be hated. No one gave her a second glance because they were too afraid, but all she wanted was for them to finally say 'hello'. This girl is more afraid of _herself_ than people are of her, maybe. She grows and learns with the abuse of those who claim to love her, but only take the money from the state to buy more and more booze. She gets a little tougher everyday, but also just loses more and more hope. Society decided for her, that she was a monster, that she was destined to be a criminal, a _villain_. Everyone decided for her, that she couldn't be a hero. She is determined to prove them wrong.

My name is Lilith Lokidottir. And this is my story.

* * *

Date: June 3, 2006.

It's my birthday, today. I'm finally 15 and it still makes no difference. I woke up with two more bruises; one on my chin and the other on my shoulder. The foster parents were drinking again, and, like always, I was too afraid to use my powers to try and stop them. I'm so incredibly weak, I'm honestly doubting the fact my asshole of a father is the God, Loki. My courage can be measured that of a teaspoon, compared to any _god. _I'm no _goddess. _I'm just a girl. At least, that's who I want to be.

It's Wednesday, and school is almost over. I've got one more week, and finals for the next couple days. Great. Just wonderful. I start the day by covering up the bruise on my chin with a _lot _of makeup, then easily hide my other with my shirt.

I'll admit one thing, as hard as life is, I always keep my grades at all A's. I like my 4.0 GPA, and I'll keep it that way. It'll help with college, if I can't do the one thing I'd really love. I just want to help people, prove to the world I am nothing to fear, and instead someone to _trust. _And if getting good grades will help me, then so be it.

My foster parents were still asleep, hungover from the night's drinking binge. Okay, with me. Means I wouldn't have to deal with them this morning and can get myself a poptart without someone telling me the list of chores I have waiting when I get home. I could easily shut them up, if I just let go and allowed myself to use my powers freely. I'm too damn afraid. I don't want to kill anyone and it's my ultimate fear. I'm really just afraid of myself. I'm nothing like my father, and I just want the world to see that. But no one will take the word of the girl who is the daughter of the _God Of Lies. _Here's the funny thing, though. I can't lie. Well, technically I can't lie. I'm cursed to be a terrible liar, to the point that _everyone _can tell if I am lying. But, there is a good side to this. No matter how good of a liar someone _else_ is, I'll always know if they are lying. So, I just stick to telling the truth, and enjoy pointing out other's lies. But, it's the down and upside to being a demigod.

Getting through the school day is hard enough. I have to deal with people making large paths in the hallway whenever I walk by, others calling me a 'freak' or things of the nature just to get under my skin. And honestly, it works. Today I slammed two boys into the lockers, and they looked so horrified... all they could say was "What _are_ you?". I just blinked at them. It's like they might as well have really seen a true monster. Later on, I heard them conversing about how my eyes changed. Desperate to hear what they meant, I got closer, but they noticed me and shut right up. And stared. They couldn't stop this disgusting _stare _that they held on me. It made me feel like the entire world was suddenly judging me, and I couldn't breath.

I broke down into tears, after that in the bathroom. Some girl heard me crying and offered her aid, but once she actually saw my face, she began to stutter and get nervous. Then chose to use the bell as an excuse to leave me alone and go to class. Which is upsetting, because I really did want her help.

School ended and I started to get this weird twitchy feeling in my palms. Like they were aching to do something, move, anything! That's when I saw the crumpled penny on the ground. That's right. _Crumbled. _Like a piece of paper. I picked it up, and began to just...play with it. Before I knew it, I was hovering it in my hand, bending and shaping it to my will. And I found myself _smiling._ It felt good to use my powers, without fear.

When I finally returned home, I climbed through my bedroom window upstairs so no one would hear me come in. Technically, it isn't a bedroom. It's an attic, but I suited it for myself because I find the concealment oddly comforting when I want to be alone. When I'd got inside, I didn't hesitate to start looking for metals around my room. I needed to be sure, to practice, what it was I am able to do now.

I just was experimenting. Really, I was. I found some jewelry the foster parents kept in a box, and without regret, managed to form it all into a sword. I'll admit, I marveled at it for possibly ten minutes before my foster dad, Hugh, stormed in. He was drunk. Again. And utterly confused with the object in my hand. He took it, waving it around once he decided it was a sword. I wanted to stop him, but another part of me just said to sit still, and watch. Just watch.

And that's when he fell. Out my window and to the ground. I blinked once. Twice. And it took all my courage to look outside to see the dead man on the concrete. He snapped his neck on impact to the ground. Instant death. No pain at all. Part of me ached and wanted to cry, but instead a sadistic smile curled over my lips and I felt disgusted and pleased all at once. I hate it. Hate it with a passion.

I knew I couldn't stay. They'd send someone after me, and I'd be locked up. So I ran. I packed up whatever I found necessary and ran. The oddest thing is that I was sobbing, yet keeping that sadistic grin the entire time. It still makes my blood boil knowing that I was pleased I caused his death. I didn't want this. And now it's happened.

I'm currently sitting in an abandoned hotel while some guy outside continues rambing at me. He says he's from 'S.H.I.E.L.D.' I don't even know what that is, but he said he can help me. And he's...sort of lying. Like he wants to believe it, but is unsure. I can't trust it. Not one bit. So I'll just keep moving. They can try to kill me, and it would be a blessing. But whatever happens, I'm just hoping the cash I managed to steal from the foster parents will be enough. I need to lay low, buy some tiny apartment and finish school. I'll find a way...I know I will.

I don't know why I'm writing all this down. The guy outside has been rambling for an hour, and I haven't moved an inch. I guess I just want someone to know my story. Know the truth. But I think I'm giving up. What's the point in hiding anymore? Trying to run away when there is nothing left for me?

That's it. I'm going. I'll let this "S.H.I.E.L.D." take me. I don't know what will happen or if anyone will read this. But maybe this is the end.

I almost wish it is.


	2. Journal Entree 2

Date: June 5, 2006

So, the good news is, they didn't kill me. The bad news is, they knocked me out for an entire day and locked me up in some room. Everything is white, and they've got me dressed in white clothes, too. The thought of someone stripping me bare to put new clothes on me is making me want to puke.

I've only been awake for a good eight hours and I feel exhausted. The guy who was yelling at me from outside the hotel came striding in with such confidence. He didn't even flinch when I walked toward him, nor when I placed my hand on his shoulder did he even wince. But he was suddenly confused when I started to cry. No one has been so calm around me, trusting of me to even come within five feet of them. He was even more confused when I hugged him. Hell, I was even confused as to why I did, but still. He even hugged me back with only a moment's hesitation. I forgot how it felt to be held, since no one had in..._years._ I started to cry hard and he just hugged me tighter. He just let me cry, right there, in his arms.

I've got no clue how long I just there, just holding him. But once I had finally gotten myself under control, he handed me a tissue and gave me the warmest smile. I found myself smiling back, a sweet and gentle smile at that. He had me sit down, and told me his name was 'Phil Coulson'. The whole time, he just smiled or kept a straight face.

But, we made a deal. They let me go, and I don't cause trouble. They'll set me right on my feet, and I can continue school without them bothering me. I agreed, and I'm currently waiting for my clothes and money that they confiscated from me. Actually, scratch that. They're taking the money back to my previous foster mom because it's "the right thing". But instead is giving me a place to stay and cash to go with it. I already warned them, that once school is out and I have found a new place somewhere else, I'm gone. I can't stay here, wherever _here_ is. Honestly, I don't think I'm in Nevada anymore. Not that I can tell, I'm pretty sure I'm a hundred feet underground, at the moment.

I have guards outside my room, and it makes me feel dangerous. It's just..._weird. _I'm not a criminal. I didn't kill Hugh, but technically I also did. The guilt is eating at me from the inside out. My face feels hot, and I can't seem to eat the food they've given me, no matter how good that damn steak looks right now. I just keep gagging every time.

I can't stop thinking about my smile. I mean, the one I wore when Hugh fell out the window. It still makes me shudder at myself. The fact I found it pleasurable to see him dead on the ground made me feel so dirty and wrong.

But, I thought up a poem, today. Once Phil actually took a moment to hand me my journal, I cracked it open immediately. The binding had been stressed, which means it's been pressed down onto a copying machine. Typical. I really expected that, considering I did write about the development of my metal abilities.

Anyway, here's the poem. Enjoy.

_I sit in the white washed room_

_with only my thoughts_

_My blood churns and boils _

_at every image in my head_

_I can't take this guilt_

_This feeling of pleasure and dread._

_When did the voices start to speak in my head._

_Make it go away_

_Make it all stop_

_I'm not a monster_

_I'm just a girl who was caught_

_Red hands, bloodied with a smirk_

_While my eyes held fire and churned and burned. _

_They've got me, now what?_

_Do they think death is what I fear?_

_Death is what I crave._

_To feel._

_To taste._

_And yet I am too coward it let death take my place._

_Let someone have their revenge._

_Let them take my life._

_At least they can live on._

_And I could finally die._

I know, it's a bit morbid. But, hell. It's the truth. It's the only way I know how to put the thoughts in my head onto paper. The only true way, that is. I wish I had more to write for you, more to say. But...I just can't find my words right now. I think I'll rest, until Phil comes back to send me off back home.

Is it bad I don't want him to go? That I just want him to stay and take care of me? It's all I want. Just someone who seems to actually care about my thoughts and feelings. Because I'm pretty sure I haven't been hugged since I was eight years old.


	3. Journal entry 3

Date: June 6, 2006

Wow. Woke up with such a huge headrush and still in this white room with these white clothes. I just want my jeans and t-shirt back, because those were comfortable.

Apparently, I had to stay longer for evaluation to see if I'm "safe". To hell with that, I need to go to school! I want to finish out this school year with my 4.0 intact! But noooo I'm stuck here still. What do they want with me?

I've taken to writing more poems again and now they all just sound the same. I need a new muse but that's hard when you're locked up.

Coulson came and sat down with me to make sure I ate my food this time. A simple plate of eggs, a biscuit, and some bacon. It looked so good, especially with that toast and orange juice, but suddenly a million times better with Phil there to chat with. I actually ate it, all of it, even. I mentioned how I would be behind in my school work, and he didn't seem to care for more than a split second. He'd frowned then shook it off. Then, had the nerve to ask me "What does someone like you have to worry about school for?" Excuse me? Have you _seen _this economy? I just shrugged at him and went "Everyone needs a job, Phil. The better grades I have, the better scholarships, and the better college. I might be a freak, but I'll be a freak with a future." He just sort of stared at me after that, went silent for a really long time before replying "You're not a freak. You're just...special." Yeah, sure, okay.

I think I went back to sleep after that, because I lost track of a good three hours. It's late again, and I'm still locked in this room. At least they finally gave me my clothes back. Washed and dried, even. Well, I had the decency to thank them for that. Clean underwear is a must, after all.


	4. Journal entry 4

Date: June 15, 2006

Wow. It's been a few days since I wrote anything, especially since all that shit went down with S.H.I.E.L.D. but here I am again. Just a pencil and journal.

They set me up in a small apartment close to the school. I'm only 15 but right now, it feels more like 30. I don't have to pay the bills, but living on my own like this is...new. And I actually like it. I feel so independent and just...great. It's hard to explain, because I'm not exactly free, but it feels like for once in my life I'm allowed to decide my own fate. I'll have S.H.I.E.L.D. on my tail for the rest of my life but that can't be so bad. Maybe one day, I can be an agent. Do something good for the world instead of something bad.

School ended, and I passed with my 4.0 just barely intact. I turned in a quick little report on the topic we just discussed in each class and managed to use it as extra credit. And trust me, I'm extremely thankful I could do it.

But I have a serious problem. S.H.I.E.L.D. lied. They told me no one would know about my foster dad dying due to me. And yet, I go to school and everyone is more afraid of me than usual. I saw my locker had "MURDERER" written in all big letters in Sharpie. People mumbling about me wherever I was. I'm started to almost wish the rumors about me were true. That I'm a heartless bitch that does all these terrible things. Because maybe if I was as heartless and cruel as they make me out to be, I wouldn't feel so terrible about a dumb lie. I want it to all just end. And recently, putting a gun to my head seems like a really good plan. Because this will never end. They will never see the good I am wishing to have and show.

I didn't kill him. I just chose not to save him.


	5. Journal Entry 5

July 16, 2006

It's been a good month since school has ended, and it feels almost worst than being in school. I'm on my own now, on my way to a little city in California to start school again, there. Tenth grade. They say it's the hardest year of high school, and I'm not even fretting it. I've got a 4.0 GPA following my trail, so no worries there.

But, I was thinking today. A little more than usual, and I guess that's odd of me, but I can't be sure to judge myself. S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to be looking at me for the rest of my life. What if I worked for them? Started using what I can do for good, to help people? I can't exactly get a hold of them, currently. It's not like I have their phone number at all and can just call and chat up a conversation.

They'll come for me again, I'm sure. One day I'll mess up again and will be crying for help. I'm weak. I'm a coward. And I know, they'll have to take me in again.


	6. Journal Entry 6

WARNING: TRIGGERING CONTENT

September 29, 2008

Wow. I haven't written in this old journal for a while. Guess it's because I haven't had the motivation to... I've been busy the past couple years with school. The district I'm in-or was in, at least- wanted me to skip a couple grades, but I refused. School lets me think about something else when my mind is a blur over something about myself I'm scared of.

Well, I guess you're wondering what could possibly motivate me to write in this after two years, right? Well, I've caused some trouble for myself again and..well, it's really bad this time. If someone is reading this, you can probably see the tear stains from my crying. But. Here goes:

I was just walking home from school (well, it's a small ass apartment I can afford with McDonald's salary) and a few guys from school who had the hots for me, decided to try and get exactly what they wanted. I was pinned against a brick wall in the alley way, four teenagers surrounding me. I panicked when on began pulling down my skirt and the others began to fondle me and force me to the ground where they managed to get my skirt completely off. I didn't know what I had done until I saw one of them on the ground, head bashed in and blood all over me and just everywhere. I blacked out prior, I must've raged out or something...some sort of newfound defense mechanism. That doesn't make it okay.

While the other guys ran away, I just fell to the ground and sobbed my weak heart out, fumbling to dial the number I was given to contact S.H.I.E.L.D. (Phil gave me his number when they checked up on me a couple days ago) before anyone had the chance to call the police.

I sat there, crouched over the body of the boy trying to work with healing abilities I've been working on, tears mixing with blood, hands drenched in his blood as I sat there and just...tried so hard to take it back. That was when I felt the pain of two stab marks in my side and abdomen. The other must've tried to stop me by pulling the knives...

It wasn't until I felt two firm hands grip my shoulders that I finally stopped trying to take back the horrible mistake. It was Coulson. He pulled me back, sat on the ground and pulled me close to him into a tight grip so I could calm down and cool off. Apparently, my body felt like it was enflamed while my hands were at work with healing. But, Coulson held me so close and tight, it didn't feel like I was being constricted, it felt like I was being _protected. _

He cooed and hushed me many times, trying to calm the wracking sobs. It was short lived, though, as he soon hoisted me to my feet, gripping my arms, and lead me to the familiar black van.

Soon after, they sent me into the showers to get cleaned up and then proceeded to tend my wounds and send me through quite a few tests. They needed to make sure I was stable, I guess. Once that was over, Coulson handed me some black pajamas (a long sleeve shirt and pants, both very much like silk).

I don't know how long we talked about what happened. Or how many times I could've swore I saw a pain in his eyes whenever I'd begun to tear up again. He'd just sit there and hold me, his chin on my head whilst rocking me gently to try and calm the sobs once again.

I killed someone.

It wasn't some accident caused by alcohol (even though tests would later prove the teens were indeed drinking prior to the event), it wasn't an accident that I just _happened_ to be involved in. This wasn't like my foster dad. This time...I actually killed someone. With my bare hands.

But the worst part is...I don't even remember doing it. And I couldn't take it back.

I don't know how long they will want to keep me here. I might be going to jail for this...but for now, I'm sitting in a glass box. And this black guy with an eye patch and trench coat has been looking at me from outside for the past fifteen minutes. What is he, a damn pirate? He looks like something out of "The Matrix".


	7. Jounal Entry 7

September 30, 2008

A lot went down yesterday and I can't stop thinking about it. I killed someone. My only defense is that he and his friends were trying to...well, you know. That, and I don't even remember doing it. The sick part is, a part of me wants to smile at the image of the busted skull, at my work of bloody art. I cringe at myself. I talked to Coulson about these feelings and he didn't know how to respond.

I'm scared. He told me that S.H.I.E.L.D. and the CIA are going to put me on trial. Not only that, but it's being filmed on TV. Phil (he's letting me call him that when no one is around) told me S.H.I.E.L.D. tried everything to keep them from deciding that, but CIA is allowing the press to film and do a story on it. I'll be all over national television. And in two days, everyone in the world will see me for what I've done. Phil said that there are just some things S.H.I.E.L.D. can't control.

I guess I'm one of those things, too


End file.
